


Kevin's Back

by xoxoxo



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Violence, i don't know it's all the same tags as normal will update as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxoxo/pseuds/xoxoxo
Summary: It was near the end of their failed mission when things went more wrong than either of them could possibly have predicted. Kevin landed in jail in Uganda, and Connor was eventually forced back to the United States. Connor spent the next several years of his life working tirelessly to help get Kevin back, and he wasn't quite sure what did it, but at 3:17 AM on a Tuesday morning, he got the phone call.'He's being released.'
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 19
Kudos: 26





	Kevin's Back

_“He’s in there_.” 

The door felt big and bad and almost ominous in a way that Connor hadn’t expected it to feel. He’d waited for this moment for so long. Somewhere along the line, he had lost count of the days, but he had thought of little else. 

Mr. and Mrs. Price stood behind him; he could feel their gazes cutting into his back. Cold and disapproving. Reluctant to allow this, but allowing it anyway. For him. For Kevin.

Connor took a deep breath. 

_One._ And another. _Two._

He swallowed, palms slick as his fingers wrapped around the doorknob. His heart pounded inside of him and his ears rang. He didn’t know what he would find; _who_ he would find. He wasn’t entirely sure what he even hoped to find.

✥ ✥ ✥

He had gotten the call at 3:17 AM. Mrs. Price had been frantic on the other end. Seeing her name light up his screen was enough to immediately pull him from a tumultuous sleep, and hearing her voice set off every internal alarm left in him. She wouldn’t call him unless something had happened. Something big. 

_We just got a call from the Embassy_ -

Connor was already fumbling over his shoes as she spoke, cursing under his breath as he went, not really registering or processing what was being said, but on autopilot.

_-on our way to the airport._

His hands shook as he threw items into his bag; he didn’t stop to look at what clothing was being chosen, only that he’d have clothing to wear.

_-he’s being released._

She was crying. She was distraught. He could hear banging around in the background as he sucked in a deep breath, his vision beginning to spot.

 _-did you hear me? Connor, he’s being_ released. 

He could feel the emotion in her words and suddenly all he could do was gasp for air; he made a conscious effort to force himself to slow down. His hands circled his torso as he collapsed onto his bed. He was going to be sick.

He didn’t know what had changed. He didn’t know… he didn’t know how this happened or what it meant. He tried to ask for more details, for _anything_ , but it was difficult to form words as earth-shattering panic really started to settle upon him. 

Mrs. Price had ended the call with a promise to update him as soon as she landed. There was an unspoken _you shouldn’t come_ lingering in the air, but it didn’t mean anything. Of course he was coming.

He got on the phone with a travel agent as soon as he was off the phone with Mrs. Price. He was in a car on the way to the airport before he had even had a flight secured. From there, he didn’t stop again to think, or to speak to anyone, or to breathe. If he stopped, he’d fall apart. He knew that. His brain was singularly wired to do the thing that needed to be done. To get to the airport. 

To get to Kampala. Over and over. 

To get to Kevin.

✥ ✥ ✥

Six fucking hours. He had to wait _six hours_ at the airport before his flight. It was the fastest way to get there, but it wasn’t fast enough. Nothing was enough. He texted Mrs. Price and told her he was coming; that he would be just behind them. He told her to get him out, and that he would be there. As fast as he could.

She didn’t respond.

The Prices, he believed, held him at least partially responsible for what had happened. He didn’t blame them. He held himself nearly fully responsible. Ultimately it didn’t matter who had been responsible, because it was Kevin who was paying for it. He pushed those thoughts away, because if he allowed himself to spiral about this, at that moment, he didn’t know how he would drag himself off of the floor and onto the plane.

Connor sat at an airport coffee shop, his hands shaking, his small bag next to him, wiping the sweat and tears from his face every few seconds. He would not allow himself to believe this was real. That any of this was real. He would not allow himself the hope that maybe… maybe this was actually happening.

He had had this dream before. Too many times.

This time, though, it felt so _goddamn_ real. 

Wake up, he commanded himself. Wake the fuck up, Connor. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t wake up because he was already awake, the rational part of him said. Paradoxically, he also couldn’t allow himself to believe that was true. Where there was hope, there was crushing disappointment. 

His hands didn’t stop shaking once during that six hour wait. The waiter checked on him frequently at first, and then eventually he came less, and then he stopped coming.

And still, Connor couldn’t wake himself up.

✥ ✥ ✥

The plane ride to Kampala wasn’t any less stressful. He had texted Mrs. Price only three times before he boarded, and Mr. Price just once. They had both almost definitely been on a plane, he told himself, and he was not their priority. 

He didn’t eat on the first twelve hour flight, on the three hour layover, or on the second seven hour flight. He barely slept. He tapped his foot and he watched the clouds and he did anything he could do to keep his mind blank, but it crept in. 

By the time he finally arrived in Africa, he was so wound up that he wasn't even sure what he needed. Some combination of food, sleep, and Kevin, he was sure, but he couldn't figure out the priority. Mid-sprint toward Customs, he found himself doubled over a trash can, and the images that he’d focused so hard on suppressing pummeled him. 

✥ ✥ ✥

“He’s in there,” Mrs. Price said, inclining her head toward the closed door. Her eyes were red, almost definitely from crying. Mr. Price’s ever stoic and detached demeanor was cracking right in front of Connor, as he wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. Whatever general contempt the older man held for Connor was overshadowed by the concern on his face. 

Neither of them had been surprised when he texted them from Entebbe with an update that he had landed and a plea for the hotel details. He had, over the past several years, become an unwelcome yet relentless presence in their lives. They had long since realized he wasn’t backing down and a sort of passive acceptance had come shortly after. Connor became, he thought, a pest who fervidly refused to detach himself from them. They didn’t know the whole truth behind his relationship with their son, but Connor was certain they at least suspected it. Ultimately, their perspective on Kevin’s sexuality and subsequent relationship was different now than it would have been under other circumstances. It was a fight for another day, and one that he thought everyone would be grateful to even have the opportunity to have. 

Mr. Price nodded, more a sort of resigned permission than welcome invitation, then turned away, moving to face the window. As the moment of truth came closer, and the distractions that he’d been so hellbent on embracing faded away leaving nothing but a wooden barrier between him and... Connor felt an unmasked surge of panic creeping into him.

Connor stared at the large door. It wasn’t actually large, was it? No, uh, no, it was a very normal door. Connor just felt… so small, right then. Kevin was behind that door; that door was the only thing separating them. 

His heart hurt, both metaphorically and in a deep, physical way. He felt blackness threatening his vision; he felt the familiar tells of a full-blown meltdown, the pang in his chest as he fought for each breath. Kevin was right there, on the other side of that door. 

Connor spared a quick glance around the room, hoping for someone to bail him out. The Embassy official, whose name Connor had not even remotely attended to, sat in a small hotel chair in the corner, his forearms resting on his knees, typing furiously on his phone. Mrs. Price watched him cautiously, her fingers wound together tightly. _Please_ , she mouthed to Connor, a stray tear rolling down her cheek as her husband came back to her side. 

_Grow the fuck up, Connor_ , he told himself, bringing his focus back to the door. His hand was slick as he pressed it gingerly against the knob.

They had tried to give him some warnings, some pieces of information, some words of encouragement, even. Connor had nodded and nodded and brushed them off and now, as he thought back, he couldn’t remember any of it. Not a single goddamn word of what he’d been told.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a large framed picture and, suddenly self conscious, smoothed out his hair quickly, hoping Kevin wouldn’t notice or care and of course Kevin wouldn’t notice or care, but still, he was ashamed of himself for not… for not doing better. And when most of the flyaway curls were… calmer, the world seemed to come to a standstill.

He would open that door on three, okay?

Connor took a deep breath. 

_One._ And another. _Two._

He must have blacked out, because he didn’t remember getting to three.

✥ ✥ ✥

Connor had waited for this moment for over seven years. 

He had spent the first year, in almost its entirety, in Uganda. It was a period of darkness that he had nearly fully blocked out. He remembered the emotions vividly, but the specifics were hazy. He spoke to everyone he could. Knocked on every lawyer’s door in every nearby city. He spoke to Kevin’s parents, Church officials, humanitarian aid workers, and anyone else who would listen, pleading for help. He wrote letters to senators and lawmakers until his fingers hurt. He visited the Embassy often, sometimes calm, sometimes hysterical. He became a damn _presence_ in Kampala, Uganda. He would, when he could bring himself to do it, visit the churches and pray. And when the money ran out, he would steal food and sleep in the overgrown grass and try to work out whether it was possible to wake up from the nightmare that had become his life.

Eventually, he had been forced to leave, to get back to the U.S. under the threat of immediate detainment. A slew of government and Church officials, Embassy members, and attorneys from both Uganda and the United States had made damn sure that he knew there was nothing more he could do here, and him being arrested and/or deported would only complicate things further. Only when it was made crystal clear to him that it was in _Kevin’s_ best interest that he leave, did he board the fifteen-plus hour flight. His parents had collected him at the airport.

He had four major panic attacks on the cab ride home, and eventually, he had laid his head in his mother’s lap and wept. He was back in America, and Kevin was still in Uganda. And there wasn’t anything that he, or anyone else, could do.

The second year he had enrolled at the University of Utah to stay as close to Kevin’s family as he could. He had cooperated with every official that spoke to him. He had called daily. The prison, the Embassy, the Church, and Kevin’s family. He majored in international law and he did the absolute bare minimum to pass his classes and not get kicked out. He had attended therapy and went to work and did what he had to do to get by.

By year four, the calls had tapered off. An air of hopelessness had settled down on him. He began throwing himself into his classes in a sort of Hail Mary pass to do _something_ that could help; he no longer attended therapy, and he barely spoke to his parents or anyone else. He shut everyone out. After he graduated, he took the first job he could as a paralegal which was in fucking Florida of all places and in an act of real and true desperation, he once more took to praying. He prayed that Kevin was being treated fairly, and that somehow, some way, something would change.

And time kept passing, and Connor did what he could do to take his mind off of things. He had become the pinnacle of a failed Mormon. He was smart and he studied hard, landing a scholarship St. Thomas where he began a law degree, and he was stupid and he fucked strangers and drank ( _alcohol)_ and acted generally as one would expect someone who had really lost all hope to act. He forgot to eat most days, slept through the night a small handful of times a year, and put every penny he had into a meager savings account, should the opportunity present itself for him to get a new visa. He spent every evening pouring over legal books and ripping his hair out. 

And where initially, moments of hope were fleeting, eventually, moments of hope were gone, and the hole inside of his chest grew and grew and grew, and the nightmares took hold of him and he felt himself slipping away.

Until he got that call. 

✥ ✥ ✥

Connor fell backward against the door as it closed, his fingers fumbling on the lock. Kevin didn’t move, but Connor was sure his heart had skipped at least several beats just at the sight of him. At being here, in his presence, in person, for the first time in seven years. Kevin’s back was to Connor, an oversized black sweatshirt covering almost all of his skin. His hair was shaggy, his neck barely visible by the soft curls that covered it. He had to have showered by now, right? They would have let him shower, right? And fed him? He had- he had eaten, right? 

Kevin stared blankly out the window that overlooked the city. Connor couldn’t even, at that point, confirm that it was him. But he knew by the erratic thumping and overwhelming tightness in his chest that it was.

“Kevin?” he finally said, his voice nearly inaudible. He wasn’t even… could Kevin have even heard him? He didn’t react, if he had.

“It’s-” He cleared his throat, going a little louder. “It’s me. It’s Connor.” He paused for a moment. “McKinley.”

 _He’s disoriented_ , he thought someone had told him. Mrs. Price. _He’s… he’s not himself_. There were tears in her eyes.

After what felt like an eternity in silence passed, Connor took another sobering breath. “Buddy,” he said, walking slowly around the large bed. Kevin’s shoulders tightened, the first real sign that he was even aware that Connor had entered. 

“You shouldn’t have come,” Kevin whispered, the first words… fuck. It didn’t matter what the words were. His voice was gravelly and soft, not sad or happy or scared just… flat. Connor paused in his tracks, and Kevin slowly turned to face him.

Connor wasn’t sure what he had expected; for all the time he had spent dreaming of this moment, he didn’t know what he expected. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a nightmare still.

Kevin’s eyes were what first struck him. It was hard to describe them in a way that wasn’t a cliche, but that was the most on the nose. Devoid of life. And beneath them, dark bags and hollow cheeks. It was Kevin. But it wasn’t, at the same time. It was a new, sallow version of Kevin. It was a lot to take in, but, Connor reminded himself, what he was experiencing was absolutely nothing compared to what Kevin had experienced. Compared to what Kevin was actively experiencing. 

Kevin blinked slowly, his expression unchanged, and turned his attention back to the window without much more of a reaction. Connor swallowed back any big heavy feelings. He should have tried harder to hear what they had told him. Kevin’s hands sat lifelessly on his lap, his fingers pale and motionless. Gaunt.

“Can I-” Connor said eventually, eyeing the spot on the bed next to him. “Do you mind if I sit?” he asked.

Kevin shook his head and moved to the side just a bit, but did not shift his focus from the view. 

Connor swallowed, sucking in a deep breath. God, he should have listened to them. This wasn’t- it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Right? But what was it supposed to be like? He didn’t have the first clue.

“It’s beautiful from up here, isn’t it?” It was a line to cut the silence, and he hated himself for it. He had a lot to say, and a lot to ask, and small talk wasn’t in the plan. Kevin hated small talk. But, the more rational part of Connor’s brain said, it was unclear where Kevin was at. Proceed with caution. 

Connor stood, moving closer to the window, and pointed north. “Kitguli is that way a few hundred miles,” he said. He smiled. “The district never did bounce back,” he continued, not fully allowing himself to wonder if Kevin was even hearing him, but eager to fill the silence.

He swallowed again. _Shut the fuck up, Connor. He doesn’t want you here. Leave him alone._ That was his less rational side. He spared a glance behind him. Kevin’s eyes met his, and damn near confirmed Connor's suspicion. He was shut down. He wasn't into it. The walls he had built were made of titanium, and he wasn't about to let Connor in.

“Everyone’s back in the U.S. now,” Connor continued, sitting back down. _Obviously_. _Do better, Connor._ Kevin's demeanor seemed to slightly shift, but became no more interested or welcoming. In fact, it seemed like quite the opposite, his mouth forming a hard line, the tension in his shoulders seeming to build. Connor looked at his own hands as his fingers tangled together. “Almost everyone left… right after the… right after things went bad. Arnold stayed with me for a little bit… they don’t know yet, though. That you’re…” He gestured to Kevin, who gave an empty smile in response.

Connor waited a moment, then inhaled. “Do you want me to leave?”

Kevin returned his attention to the view. What a stupid question. If Kevin said yes, Connor would be devastated beyond all belief, honor Kevin’s wishes, and spend the next sixty years wondering if he was lying. _This isn’t_ really _about you,_ that rational voice chimed in.

When it didn’t seem like Kevin was going to provide an answer, Connor glanced back at the door. He shouldn’t have locked it. He should have kept it open, in fact, so that there was even a possibility that someone would save him.

"I'm sorry," he heard, his focus immediately shifting back to Kevin. His expression was still guarded, but there was something brewing behind his eyes. "I just... I think I just need some... time."

And something broke inside of Connor, for the boy who he had left here. For the years of... whatever had happened to him, that Connor couldn't even begin to fathom. For the man sitting before him, who looked so goddamn hungry, _so tired_ , and who still wasted whatever energy he had apologizing to him. Maybe he shouldn't have come.

“Of course,” Connor eventually said, swallowing back the threat of tears and standing. Kevin watched him warily but did not argue with that, which Connor thought was enough of a sign. This would take time and he knew that. Rationally, he could handle this, and if he had allowed himself to think through any of it, he probably could have anticipated something like this. 

Irrationally, his heart had been ripped out of his chest and thrown twenty stories down into the bustling streets of Africa, but he figured he could go for a walk later and pick it-

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he said, when it became obvious that Kevin wasn’t going to say anything. _You shouldn’t have come here._ That’s what he was going to get. He unlocked the door.

It was Mr. Price, accompanied by the Embassy official and another man. Kevin eyed them hesitantly, but made no move; he didn’t even seem particularly anxious. It was uncanny. 

“Kevin,” the Embassy official (God, Connor really needed to get his fucking name) said, “this is Doctor Otim. He’s going to look you over, get a general idea of where you stand health-wise. I know this is a lot for you right now, but getting you out of the country is our top priority.”

The man paused, allowing questions, comments, whatever. No one spoke. Mrs. Price came up behind Mr. Price, who stood near the other men. “U.S. Customs is requesting a full physical evaluation to screen for disease, as well as a brief quarantine. We need to get that process started immediately. Our goal is to keep you out of the public eye as much as possible for the next few days. Once you’re back on U.S. soil it’ll be easier, but in the meantime, you need to lay low. In three days we can get you on a plane and get you home, okay?”

Kevin nodded. 

“Great. Doctor Otim will do a preliminary exam, decide if we absolutely need to get you to the hospital, and if not, we can work on meeting the requirements in private and get you more in depth medical attention once you’re home. In the meantime, we have Embassy officials working on getting you an updated passport and ID, okay?” 

Kevin nodded again. Connor spared a cursory glance at his parents, who only watched their son with deep-seeded concern. The doctor asked them to leave as he pulled gloves and three syringes from his bag. Kevin eyed them, but didn’t do the things that Connor would have expected. He didn’t balk, or flinch, or cry, or react. The only tell of any budding anxiety was him gently rubbing his wrist. The movement revealed the bruising beneath his sweatshirt. 

Connor forced his eyes back to Kevin’s face. Once more, Kevin offered the perfunctory, emotionless, and extremely distressing smile.

✥ ✥ ✥

It was midnight by the time Connor got to his own room. Kevin’s family, to their credit, had offered him their couch. He opted for an adjacent single to give them (and more specifically, Kevin) the space that he suspected he was desperate for. 

He had taken them up on their offer of dinner while the doctor was with Kevin, and the three ate silently, each stealing the occasional glance at the closed door. 

Connor was, by the time he made it to his room, grateful for some time to decompress. He made it as far as the sofa before falling to the floor, wrapping himself up, and letting his emotions have their time in the spotlight. 

He cried over his part in what had happened. He cried over the very obvious mistreatment and subsequent degeneration of his best friend (and love of his life, which he was actively not allowing himself to think about). He cried over what it all _meant_ , for Kevin specifically. He cried for the years that Kevin lost and for the future that was sure to be damn near impossible on him.

He laid in a puddle on the floor, in and out of a full blown panic attack, just… falling apart, was the best way to describe what happened to him that night. He focused actively on not thinking about Kevin in those moments, about the doctor touching him, about what he’d gone through.

And still, those thoughts crept in.

A soft rapping on his door startled him and he stood, immediately wiping his face.

It had to be Mr. or Mrs. Price with an update. Perhaps Kevin had fallen asleep, and they just wanted to let him know. Maybe there was an update on his condition that would expedite their departure or change the plans. As much as they hated him, he was grateful that they were taking pity on him, even if he was certain that the pity would be short-lived. So he put on his brave face and peeled himself off of the floor.

He couldn’t hide that he’d been crying, but he figured they would understand, and so he opened the door without getting himself fully under control.

“Kevin,” he said, the word whooshing out of him. 

Kevin stood barefoot, his toes curled on the marble floor, his body supported by an iron grip on the frame of the door. He had changed clothing, the t-shirt revealing more pale, bruised skin than the sweatshirt had, and his hair had been buzzed short. 

“I-” Kevin’s focus shifted to the floor, his head shaking. “Sorry, I probably… shouldn’t have come.” He lifted his eyes slowly, so dark they were almost black, searching Connor’s. His mouth opened and closed and opened again and the words wouldn’t form themselves and Connor watched the moment of regret pass Kevin’s face, and he could feel himself losing him.

He took a step backward, gesturing Kevin inside. "I made coffee," Connor said, which was a lie, and he would be caught in that lie immediately. He held his breath as he waited for Kevin's response, as Kevin tentatively looked into his hotel room, and eventually, as he slowly stepped inside. "Wait, that was a lie," Connor blurted, closing the door. "I... I can make you coffee, but I didn't." Kevin stared at him, but didn't show what he was thinking. And Connor, being a fucking train-wreck, kept on talking. "I _have_ coffee, I... I'm going to go make you coffee, okay? Do you- uhh, black still, yeah?"

He turned and walked quickly to the kitchenette, but he didn't make it far.

"Connor?" he heard from behind him, soft and weak. He turned instantly, his full attention on back on Kevin. 

Kevin didn't speak at first, and for the first time, Connor could read emotion on Kevin's face. Sadness. Just... hopelessness. He'd seen that look before, in smaller doses. He misinterpreted it. "I swear, I can... I'll make you coffee, and we can talk, okay? It'll... just give me two minutes, okay?"

Kevin swallowed, nodding. "Yeah," he said. Connor stared at him for several beats too long, trying to get a better read on his expression. Just as he decided to go with the coffee thing, to let the distraction happen and give Kevin a moment to think about how he wanted this evening to go, Kevin spoke again. Softer, this time. Nearly inaudibly, but unmistakable. "Will you just... just... hold me? Just for a minute?" His voice cracked at the end.

The world, and every single thing in it, ceased to exist. Connor closed the distance between them in record time. He was consciously careful with Kevin's body, but he wrapped his arms around Kevin's shoulders tighter than he ever had before. Kevin didn't reciprocate, but didn't fight it either; his arms were limp at his sides, and the only movement that came from him was his steady, shallow breathing. He allowed himself to be wrapped up in Connor’s arms, and he allowed Connor to run his fingers across his scalp, and he allowed Connor to brush his lips gently against his forehead.

Connor tried to keep his thoughts at bay as he held onto that boy, but couldn't stop them from running wild. Images of the last seven years danced across his memory, mixed up with new images that his imagination concocted. Kevin wasn't okay. He hadn't been okay, and he probably wouldn't be okay, at least not for a long time. And it was the not knowing that really threw him into a frenzy, with every question stirring up the need to hold Kevin tighter. Kevin, who wouldn't speak, or cry, or look at him. But who had come here, to his room, which had to mean _something_.

They stood like that, each lost in their own thoughts, for what was probably minutes but could have been hours. Connor took in every piece of Kevin he could. The curve of his ribs, the smell of his hair. The way his muscles tightened when he touched the small of his back. The way his breathing came in even, shallow waves.

And eventually, when he felt a tear land on his shoulder, he held Kevin just a little bit tighter.

"You're okay," he whispered, his lips still pressed against Kevin's forehead. "Welcome back." 

Kevin nodded against his shoulder, his eyes closed, and he took a deep breath. 

He was okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: all-american-prophet
> 
> please leave me comments I <3 them.


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